


Beyond Good and Evil

by bavaria44



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Bromance, Brotherly Bonding, Brothers, Dragon Riders, Dragons, Epic Battles, Fantasy, Gen, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Original Fiction, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 12:06:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bavaria44/pseuds/bavaria44
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Witness the fall of a villain and the rise of a hero... </p>
<p>The past lies in our deeds. The future is carried by our dreams. Jack Caldwell must overcome the fears that pass through his heart and face his enemy, the brother who sold his soul to the highest bidder. It seems that there is nothing left to say or do, and the brothers' paths are set. In a world beyond good and evil, the darkness is coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond Good and Evil

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Beta-edited by Kronan. Otherwise totally mine.

Heavens seemed darker than any day before. Turbid fog crept into the forest, impenetrable, heavy and humid, tangled together like fleece. The mountain range sank into the white, mute, dreaming, and glowing dimly. Sharp blades of wind cut through the trees. In the middle of summer, the land was frozen – a sign that an ice dragon, a very powerful one, had his lair hidden somewhere near.

The knee-deep snow cover let out quiet huffs beneath his light and soundless steps. Jack Caldwell was reading the traces in the snow lying few inches under the mist just as flawlessly as on any other hunt before. His breath, ice-cold like the white air, condensed in front of him. A lesser man would find it difficult to pace through the silent morning without making any noise. But Jack knew how to walk this path mantled by the haze. Although, it was almost impossible to tame his heart beating wildly against his chest, Jack knew how do to this. Elves taught him to run across the fields without rustling the wheat; Dwarves how to see through the dusk. There was never an obstacle he couldn't overcome. As a child when no tree was too high, no cave to deep, no peak too steep, he would have gone to the end of the world if he had to. Back then, he was so young, so light-hearted, and so eager to become a man.

From his father endowed with black magic, he inherited longevity and the mind that allowed him to gain new knowledge; from his mother, the strong and adamant body through which he molded his will. Jack didn't remember her, for she had died long ago. In a forgotten battle she took her last breath, leaving a nameless newborn crying helplessly in an oak-carved crib. Victorious, the last true blood of a fierce warrior race; a votaress, a queen, a nameless memory, a faceless shape – never a mother.

On the contrary, Jack's father completed an entire chapter of his life, riddled it with scarlet letters. The name of Claudius the Crimson, the "Mad Lord" of Eastern Shores, was eternally burned into his soul like an iron brand. It had been almost twelve years since the war. Almost twelve years since his half-brother killed their father with his bare hands and usurped power over Eastern Shores. Almost twelve years since Gilbert the Dragonborn was defeated.

The wind changed. It began to blow from the seas, stronger, more violent, caring a familiar salty smell. He could hear it singing to him.

Heaping above the forest, the granite slopes of Eagle's Beak were shrouded by the gale. Its rocks reached the sea. "This is the place," Jack murmured under his breath. He stopped in pace as the breeze wrapped around him. In apprehension, he looked around, at all that darkness with no fires burning anywhere, with the wind blowing and the cold like a spear in his guts.

Jack could feel the hairs rise on his neck, the prickling of the blood beneath the skin, the old signs that the enemy was near. He hadn't drawn his longsword, not yet. The heavy, wide battle-blade remained sheeted and hung from his waistband.

A quivering light shimmered in the distance, his chin rose a few inches at the small, silvery light trembling in the dark cloak of night. The sun wasn't going to rise. The night wasn't going to become a day. Icy streams soared above the lone strider with a crystallized sound. Their chimes carried the vestiges of a preterit battle; words unspoken, memories not forgotten. There were visions. There were echoes in them, drifting among the naked trees twisting low above his head. There were sounds of thundering hooves and clashing swords, brushing his ears and whisking him away. A furious laugh; it hurt him like broken glass. Suddenly, Jack felt lost like the sound of his steps.

Slowly, discretely, the ghastly whistling of the wind turned into a rumbling river of sorrow running through him unhindered. Jack closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he continued in his journey, fearing the dwells in his heart.

Somewhere in a hidden memory, images floated before his eyes; bent and broken cornstalks, flames leaping high, and a knight dressed in mail of enameled scales, a glistened corselet, and helm chaste with gold, standing tall, holding a large morning star high above his head.

To be continued...

Bavaria


End file.
